


Dream Boys

by silentdescant



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Hate Sex, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Sex in a Car, Slurs, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-16 21:57:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3504179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentdescant/pseuds/silentdescant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Who do you dream about, Lynch? Is it Dick?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dream Boys

Ronan winces, biting his lip hard as Kavinsky pushes inside him past the initial resistance of muscle and flesh.

"You weren't lying, were you?" Kavinsky asks, panting. "Dick really hasn't fucked you."

"I don't lie," Ronan replies through gritted teeth. He really just wants to get this over with, move on to the more enjoyable part that includes orgasms. He can do without the heart-to-heart.

"Has anyone?" Kavinsky asks. He already looks smug, like he knows the answer.

Unfortunately, he's right, and Ronan shakes his head.

Gleeful, Kavinsky shoves his cock the rest of the way in, hard enough that his balls slap against Ronan's ass, and says, "I'm gonna be your first, Ronan Lynch. _Forever_. I'll always be your first."

Ronan doesn't dignify that with an answer. They fuck--or rather, Kavinsky fucks Ronan, who clenches his left fist around the door handle and scrambles for purchase against the leather seat-back with his right--for a while, until this silence apparently gets to be too much for Kavinsky to handle. The asshole just can't keep his mouth shut. Now he asks, "Who do you dream about, Lynch? Is it Dick? Nah, he would've fucked you by now. I bet it's that fucking trailer trash. It is, isn't it? You fucking fantasize about that redneck fag fucking your brains out, don't you?"

Ronan grits his teeth again and tries to rein in his rage. It's surprisingly easy, with Kavinsky's cock nailing that perfect angle inside him, distracting him from everything but his impending orgasm. As his body spirals tighter, tense with his need for release, his blood thrums with simmering anger.

"Say his name, Lynch. Say it."

"Adam," Ronan gasps, almost against his will. " _Adam_." Once he starts, Ronan can't stop. He mutters Adam's name over and over, a litany so ingrained in his being he can't help but vocalize it. "Fuck," he groans succinctly.

Kavinsky shoves him with his next thrust, sending his whole body skidding against the sweat-slick leather seat until Ronan's head bangs into the door. Kavinsky doesn't care, and neither does Ronan, because he's coming with Adam's name on his lips.

Kavinsky doesn't give him a moment's rest. As soon as Ronan's orgasm wrings him into a useless, sated shell of a body, Kavinsky hoists Ronan's legs up higher, folding him in half and pushing his knees against his chest. His thrusts pick up speed and he's hammering into Ronan without a care for Ronan's comfort.

"He'll never fuck you," he says. "He'll never do this for you. He can never give you what I can, Ronan. I can give you everything. Ronan. I'm so much more than him."

Ronan turns his face to the side, blinking back a sudden onslaught of tears. It's just because of the sex, Ronan's sure. He's just... regaining his equilibrium right now. He scrambles for that burning, bubbling rage and clings to it before anything else can sink in.

"He'll never give you what I can," Kavinsky says again. He's close to coming, himself, and Ronan doesn't give a fuck. He doesn't let Kavinksy see the tears threatening to leak from his eyes, and he waits while Kavinsky empties himself into Ronan's already sore ass, and as soon as Kavinsky sits back on his heels, leaning against the car window to give them both room to breathe, Ronan squirms away.

He tumbles off the seat to the narrow footwell and fumbles with the door handle, finally gets it open and crawls out into the dusty field. He's not wearing any pants, doesn't even remember where they are, but he doesn't care.

"Where are you going, Lynch? You have to stay here with me."

"I don't have to do shit," Ronan grumbles. He doesn't need pants. He just needs his car. Where is the BMW in this field of Mitsubishis?

"He'll never take you," Kavinsky shouts after him. "Even that fucking redneck's got more sense than that."

"Fuck you."

"Where are you going, Ronan? You got no where, man."

Ronan spots his car, a dark smudge against the blurry line of white cars. "Fuck you," he says again. It doesn't matter if Kavinksy can hear him. It doesn't matter if Kavinsky's right. It doesn't matter if Adam will never look at him that way. He's gotta get out of here. This isn't where he belongs.

 

 _fin_.


End file.
